The Right Time
by petite etoile22
Summary: Two lovers' paths keep crossing over centuries and continents.


_This just came out of nowhere, mainly from the Dire Straits' song 'Romeo and Juliet', and the film 'Dead Again' with Emma Thompson and Kenneth Branaugh. I don't own spooks BBC and Kudos do, even though this mentions nothing to do with the show, and could be read as an original piece really._

* * *

_**Juliet, when we made love you used to cry**_

_**You said, "I love you like the stars above, I'll love you till I die"**_

_**There's a place for us, you know the movie song**_

_**When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong Juliet ?**_

* * *

**Jerusalem, 1099:**

The citadel is burning when he sees her; she stands tall and proud, her dark locks seemingly ablaze. She turns her gaze to him and he can feel his heart burn. This foreign enemy has bewitched him. He spurs his horse on, and upwards, not slowly until he reaches the top of the mount.

"Run!" He urges her, praying to God that she understands his tongue.

"I refuse."

"They will kill you."

"Get off your horse." She commands with a smile that reveals her youthful innocence.

They burn together; their bodies hotter than the ashes of former homes and places of worship. They lie together and watch the stars the blaze above the false sunset of the city aflame.

"I love you. I love you like the stars above." She cries softly, knowing her demise is imminent. "I'll you till I die. No, I'll love you for eternity."

"Run." He pleads once more. "They'll kill you."

"No." She replies, shaking her head and unsheathing his sword. "You'll kill me."

The knight rides into the flames, sword glistening with blood and tears. He burns anew.

* * *

**Essex, England, 1549:**

He is impressed by her resolve. She can be no more than one and twenty, yet she has lasted far longer than her older (and male) counterparts. He tortures her, yet she refuses to break and confess her crimes. She speaks of God, and faith, and loyalty instead.

She speaks of Love.

And when she gazes at him through her veil of bloody, matted hair, his heart burns.

"You know nothing of Love, girl."

"You know nothing of Death, sir."

They know of lies. Lies, which manifest themselves in her cell under the furtive cover of night. They bathe her wounds in kisses.

"Do you admit to the accusation of treason placed before you?"

"Yes." She answers simply, with a smile that displays her last ounce of innocence.

"Then we condemn you to death by burning. Do you have anything to say?"

"I wish my...interrogator to set the flame."

She is consumed by a ball of fire; her fair locks ablaze. They have their traitor, and she will burn forever more.

He burns three days later; there is no kind soul to throw gunpowder onto his flames.

* * *

**Paris, France, 1788:**

The woman stands before him, honey blond hair flowing free and wild down her back. Her face is marred by the dirt of the common folk, but her classical features speak of nobility. She is one of those foolish girls who chose love over propriety; and now, death over freedom.

"Would you care to explain to the court why you murdered your husband?"

"No. I wouldn't care, that is."

A rumble of suppressed laughter. He can't help but smile at the judge's frustration.

"May I remind you Madame-"

"Madamoiselle. I'm not married, not anymore." She cuts in.

"You face the death penalty. Do you mean to say that you killed your husband in cold blood?"

"Not at all."

"Then will you please explain your actions to the court!"

"You mistake me Monsieur. I mean to say nothing."

He thinks then, that he would wish to make her acquaintance if she weren't a dead criminal.

"Then I have no choice but to find you guilty of this heinous crime and sentence to death by guillotine. "

He visits her in her cell the next morning.

"The priest is here-"

"I want no meal, no priests, no words. I want my judgement."

"It's already been passed."

"Not by the one who matters; I was told he's knows everything. Thus, I trust he will rectify your mistakes, and mine."

"Your silence has killed you, Madamoiselle. I do not understand why you have condemned yourself to death."

"Then you know not of Love." She smiles sadly, as if she has just found and lost something all at once.

"Nor you of Death." He feels as if he is trapped in an echo, and when she looks at him, his heart is struck by a terrible pain.

Her head rests at the bottom of a wicker basket, still smiling.

Her smile stays behind the lids of his eyes until he breathes his last as an old grandfather in the countryside.

* * *

**Rome, Italy, 1944:**

They don't hide; she refuses to let them do that. He was born in this country just as she was. And in a place deeper than the subconscious, they've been waiting for this moment for 845 years. For the chance to spend more than a few days or hours together. And she will not walk away because some mad man doesn't like the blood that runs through his veins.

"They'll kill you for helping me."

"They'll kill you for nothing."

2 days later, the 12th since she met him (again), she sits in a military office and demands to know why they are transporting him.

"That was his grandmother! He's a catholic!"

"He's a jew. He goes."

"This is ridiculous!"

"Look, the train is leaving in a minute. If you want, you can be reunited with your Jew. Just hop aboard!" He remarks, joking.

She was never one for jest.

They spend their last hours together in the dark, with nothing but the moans of their companions and the rumbling of the track to keep them company. They walk together to the gates.

Her blonde hair saves her. As she turns her head from him one last time, he whispers softly into her ear.

_"You said you love me like the stars."_

She'd never said that.

Five weeks later, there's a selection. She watches as a girl of no more than 17 steps forward, her number called. She sharply yanks the girl backwards, and nods to the matron of their 'housing' block.

"Your number wasn't called. It was a mistake."

"Bu-"

"Your number wasn't called, and may it never be called." The Matron mutters under her breath.

She stands naked as the day she was born, and can't help but laugh into the head of the 'shower' nozzle.

She had loved him like the stars, and she had loved him till she died.

* * *

**Undisclosed, 2009:**

He looks over to her lying, bleeding, in the corner of their small class. She meets his gaze; he sees those brown-green-hazel-blue eyes of hers, and he remembers.

910 years is an awful long time to go without ever really having a 'relationship'.

She spasms in pain, and he rushes to her side, desperately wishing to alleviate her suffering somehow. He pulls her into his lap, gently stroking her matted and bloody locks. She smiles, displaying her final ounce of innocence.

"_Bathe my wounds in kisses..._" She murmurs half delirious.

He does.

"._.....You know not of Love......._" She shivers, sweat creating a sheen on her pallid brow.

_'Nor you of Death.'_

"We need to get out of here. They'll kill you."

"No." She replies, shaking her head and wrapping his arm round herself. "You'll save me."


End file.
